


Hallelujah

by dallonweekes, prefectdraco



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Sex, Bisexual Brendon, Blow Jobs, Bottom Brendon, Cheating, Collaboration, Comedy, Crack, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pain Kink, Prison, Prison Sex, Sarah and Brendon are married, Top Ryan, a lot of swearing, basically this whole fic is a joke even though it's super emo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallonweekes/pseuds/dallonweekes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefectdraco/pseuds/prefectdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon goes to prison for stealing and consuming drugs. He discovers when he gets there, that his cell mate turns out to be his childhood best friend and his crush; Ryan Ross. While being married to Sarah, Brendon finds himself making terrible decisions regarding his relationships. </p><p>tl;dr: Brendon and Ryan fuck in prison. There will be some Brallon eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Cold, and it's a Broken Hallelujah

“Drugs, okay? I stole a bunch of fucking drugs. I stole them, and then I did them – and NOW I’m going to _ffffffffffffffucking_ _prison_. It’s not that hard to grasp.”

“But you’re treating it like it’s a joke – ”

“It’s not. I never said it was and I’m definitely not laughing about it. I just…don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter that much.”

“To _you_?”

“Yeah. _I guess so_.” He drawls.

“…Brendon, you’re leaving in _two_ _days_ ,” she says quietly; her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to end this on bad terms.”  
  
“We’re not ending it, though, right? We’re not just callin’ it quits just because I fucked up.”  
  
She falls silent, and picks up a few bills splayed across the counter. She moves swiftly; pinching the middle of the envelopes with her forefinger and thumb, before light blue hues glance up to settle on his face.  
  
“Sarah,” Brendon pleas, pushing himself out of his seat and moves over by her side. “I fucked up. _I’m sorry_.”  
  
She says nothing in response to his apology; she just simply moves her gaze up to meet chocolate hues. She then takes takes his hands into her own. “I want you to be okay. Will you?”  
  
“Probably. You say it like I’ve been multiple times.  
  – I-I haven’t, by the way. I guess I could spend my two days of freedom by drinking beer and playing piano. Usually how the down time goes.”

 

Brendon and Sarah are both silent. Sarah isn’t crying, but she looks on the verge of doing so, her fists clenched. Brendon wants to reassure her, but for some reason nothing comes out of his mouth. Every second that passed was a second closer to hell. Probably for the both of them. He couldn’t even reassure himself, much less his wife. He knows it will be hard for her – for them both. But he can’t lose her. She’s probably going to be the only thing giving him faith.

Brendon parks the car, takes a deep breath and walks out of the car. Sarah does the same, and walks to her husband. She hugs him tightly, and then she breaks into sobs. What will she do without him?

He hugs her back, and hearing her cry makes his heart break. He pulls away and kisses her passionately. He wants this to last forever. He doesn’t want to spend twelve months of his life away from her.

He closes his eyes, holding her close against him. “I love you,” he whispers to her.

“I love you too,” she responds, her voice breaking. She takes his hand, and presses it hard. She didn't know how she would survive without Brendon. And she couldn’t stop thinking about how different things will be once he will have done his time.

Nothing lasts forever. It will be over one day, and then Brendon will have hopefully learned his lesson. Sarah still felt reluctant to stay with Brendon. She loves him, but having to be committed to him, when they won’t even be able to spend time together anymore just made her extremely sad.

Sarah rubs her eyes, shaking, and looks at Brendon in the eyes. She begins to walk to the office with him, and he opens the door.

Brendon walks up to the reception desk, and Sarah feels numb. It is as if she was truly realizing that they would be apart for a year. And she couldn’t even imagine how hard it would be for Brendon, having to take cold showers, eat what they called food but looked more like vomit than anything else.

“Are you really sure you’re going to be all right?” Sarah asks him while they are sitting in the waiting room. “I’ve seen _Orange Is The New Black_ and believe me, there is some serious shit going on there. Have you even _seen_ what the food looks like?”

Brendon laughs it off, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just promise me you won’t fuck anyone in there,” she tries to smile at him. It was hard enough for Brendon already, she didn’t want to make it harder.

“What, are you fucking _kidding_ me? Never in my entire life have I thought about that. Never has crossed my mind. Promise.”

Minutes pass, and finally, a guard walks over to them, and Brendon can feel his heart skip a beat. If not once, then twice, three, or four times. _This is it_ , he thought, _my last seconds of freedom._ The thought of completely saying ‘fuck it’ and making a run for it did cross his mind; but he knew that there was no possible way that he could make himself move fast enough. So, he settles on the alternative.

He kisses Sarah nervously, grasping her hand tightly again. He didn’t know if he was able to do this. Not on his own, at least.

“I’ll visit you this weekend,” she tells him, smiling lightly. “until then, this is it.”

“Come with me. Now.” The guard orders Brendon. Sarah kisses him again, and then nods, trying to prepare herself mentally.

It all went by so quickly. He lets go of Sarah’s hand, and walks away. She just looks at him leaving, holding back tears. She knows that it’s pointless to cry; it will just make things worse.

Everything felt as if it was slow motion. The next thing Brendon knows he is in a room with this guard named officer Weekes.

“Strip,” the officer orders, and for some reason that turns Brendon on. He knows he shouldn’t be aroused by that, but it really does. Brendon obliges, soon free of all of his clothes. He wondered if he’d ever see them again. Why did it even matter, anyways?

The officer placed himself in front of Brendon. “Open your mouth.”

Everything felt so weird. He would be in this place for a whole fucking year. The next thing Officer Weekes does is ask Brendon to raise his arms.

“Now turn around and squat.” Officer Weekes really seems to enjoy giving Brendon orders. And Brendon couldn’t do other than obey, especially when it was such a good looking man telling him what to do. _There was something about a man in uniform…_  
  
He smirks at the officer cheekily and turns around, complying.

“ _Cough_.”

He puts on the orange jumpsuit the officer gives him, along with underwear and a plain white shirt, having him stare while he’s doing it. “You enjoyin’ the view?”

“ _I sure am_ ,” Officer Weekes responds almost sarcastically. He knows he can’t be too flirty with the inmate; nor tell him what he’d sure like to hear. This, after all, was someone he was responsible for. Not to mention that Officer Weekes was... _happily married_.

Brendon’s smirk falters for a moment before dissipating, quickly averting his eyes to smooth out his jumpsuit.  
  
“I um….can we take these off at some point?” He asks, dark brows furrowing at the almost _painfully_ bright and _ugly_ orange he wore. It was one thing to be put in a cell with a steel toilet and having to _share_ it with someone, but it was another thing to look like an absolute fucking strip of caution tape.  
  
“Depends on what you choose to _do_ in here, inmate,” the guard responds, eyes scanning him.  
  
“I do have a name, y’know,” Brendon breathes, pushing up his glasses with his forefinger, “it’s Brendon.”

“Well, Brendon, I hope you have a _lovely_ time here in prison. I’m sure you’ll do _just fine_.” Officer Weekes offers him a forced smile, before gesturing for him to follow him out.  
  
Brendon complies, following him outside; though makes sure he stays close as they pass by cells.  
  
“You’ll be bunking with Ross,” the guard counters as they turn down quite a long corridor.

“Ross? Is that his _name?_ ”  
  
“Last.”  
  
“You don’t call inmates by their first names?” He’s trying desperately to make conversation with the guard, because in reality he feels as though the officer could be his only friend in this damn place.  
  
“No.”

So much for trying, then.  
  
“To your left,” Weekes tells him, stopping out in the middle of the hallway and nodding to a cell with the numbers ‘453’ painted on the top of the door’s frame.  
  
Brendon licks his lips and saunters over by the cell, peeking inside the small window and catching a glimpse at his cell mate.

Officer Weekes moves over next to Brendon, fumbling for his keys. They share no words as he unlocks the door, they both remain completely silent.  
  
The officer slides it open, then takes a step back to make room for Brendon to step past and into the cell.  
  
Brendon complies, tying his hand behind his back and hangs his head as he steps inside, remaining by the corner.  
  
“Ross, this is Urie. Urie, this is Ross.” Weekes says, and then he slides the doors shut, shoving the keys back into his navy blue pants.  
  
Ryan turns over on his bed, light brown hues settling on Brendon. “Ah. Beebo,” he says.  
  
“B – “ Brendon begins, raising his head and eyes immediately find the other inmate’s.   
  
“... _Ryan_.”


	2. Bottom For Bottom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little disclaimer, my friend Mak (dallonweekes) and I (brallons) don't know much about prisons since we've never actually been to one. I've seen Orange Is The New Black and a bit of Prison Break but that's it, apart from that and reading a bunch of articles I know nothing about it. 
> 
> Sorry if we've made any mistakes, but if you are aware of any please inform us and we'll correct it, thank you! 
> 
> If you have any questions you can ask us on our tumblrs: mine is [godbeebo](http://godbeebo.tumblr.com) and Mak's is [jesusbeebo](http://jesusbeebo.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

“So how did you get in this place anyway?” Ryan asks. It doesn’t surprise him that Brendon is here, though. Ryan just found it quite funny that Brendon ended up in his cell, in the same damn prison. Considering the history they had, it was indeed a very small world.

“What’s it to you?” Brendon answers with an uncomfortable chuckle. _Seeing_ Ryan again after so many years, in prison was one thing, but also having to share the reason he got sent there in the first place? Brendon would rather keep that piece of information to himself.

“I’m just making conversation.”

Brendon stays silent for a while, after reluctantly answering, “I stole drugs. And then I took them. It was great – hell it was _fucking awesome_ , ‘til I got caught, of course.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Brendon replies instantly.

“Why did you take the drugs?”

“I’m not having this conversation. At least not yet.”

They are both lying on their beds, Ryan on the top bunk and Brendon on the bottom one. It had been a few minutes since the lights went out, and Brendon is still unable to imagine that he’d be spending a year here. Although he wasn’t in such bad company compared to what he was expecting. He’s known Ryan since beginning of high school. He was still pretty surprised to see him in this place, considering that he has known him for a while and he never seemed like the type of person who’d go to prison. He clears his throat, “What about you, though? What was your crime?”

“I stole a bunch of things. At first I told myself it was just a necessary, one-time thing, but then I stole some more, and I just couldn’t stop, you know? Guns. Drugs. A lot of illegal stuff.”

“Shit.” Brendon was surprised, he never really imagined Ryan as the type of person who would do things like that. _I guess people change_ , he thinks. “How long have you been in here?”

“A few months. I still have more than a year left, though. My old bunk mate Walker just got out, that’s probably why they made you bunk with me,” Ryan explained.

Brendon doesn’t answer. This all feels so unreal to him. Ryan used to be his friend. His _closest_ friend. How the hell did he end up in the same cell as his motherfucking high school best friend? He just wishes all of this was a weird ass dream. And that he’d wake up at home, lying in bed, next to Sarah. That would be perfect.

—

He gets woken up by an extremely loud alarm at six in the morning. He groans and shifts to his side; everything hurts. His back more than anything. That was not a surprise, considering the mattresses were probably made of rock. He really wants to go back to sleep, but he knows that it will just make things worse, especially since it was his first day there. Plus the noise was way too overwhelming for him to even close his eyes for more than five seconds, even though they burned of fatigue. The alarm was pounding in his ears, and he wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop.

“Wake up, Beebo!” Ryan shouts as he zips his pants and lightly hits the bed, looking up at his cell mate. Brendon just mumbles something and rubs his eyes for the fifth time.

He can hear distinct noises, probably inmates making noise outside of their cell when the alarm finally stops. He sighs, and finally sits up and gets up from the bed, looking back at Ryan. He had changed so much since high school, maybe it was prison that did that to him or he simply aged. He couldn’t tell – the last time he ever saw the man was probably a few weeks or a month at most after Brendon dropped out of high school. After that, they quickly lost contact. Brendon became a huge mess. That was until he met Sarah of course.

“What time is it?” he asks sleepily.

“About six. You should probably get ready for breakfast. I’ve got someone to show you,” Ryan smiles at Brendon, and flushes the toilet.

“Who?”

“Patience. I have a feeling you’ll like him, though!” Ryan sits down on a chair by the table – the only things in the cell apart from the bunk bed, the toilet and a small drawer.

Brendon got ready, surprised that Ryan even waited for him; he was pretty sure most cell mates weren’t that friendly, especially with new arrivals. Once Brendon was done putting his shoes on, he follows Ryan out of the cell, curiously looking around the prison at other inmates. Most of them looked much more aggressive than Ryan or himself – they were covered with tattoos, they were taller, and appeared a lot more muscular.

They arrive in the canteen, the sound of prisoners laughing, talking and practically screaming overwhelming Brendon. _This is too much._ He doesn’t think he is strong enough to take it. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet and he misses everything. He misses Sarah, he misses the calmness, he misses being able to _fucking sleep_ at night. It was probably just slightly noisier than the high school cafeteria, but this, on top of everything else, just made Brendon want to explode. Why had he fucked up so badly? He needed to leave. He wasn’t used to this. How could he ever get used to this shit?

Trying to calm himself down, he takes deep breaths and counts to ten. For some reason, he didn’t want Ryan to think he was a coward. He usually didn’t really care what people thought about him, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Ryan considering him weak. He felt the need to prove that he was strong enough to deal with this, and to make it out of this prison alive.

He keeps following Ryan, and he takes a tray, looking at the food in other inmates’ plates with fright. That looked like anything _but_ food.

“Is that even eatable?” he asks Ryan, staring at the…substance.

“You’ll get used to it, trust me,” Ryan chuckles.

“I will?”

“Well, maybe not. But it’s your decision whether or not you wanna starve or survive.”

Brendon’s lips purse at his statement, taking one last glance at the horse shit on his tray before sitting next to a man with ombre-ish hair – black on the bottom and blonde at the tips. He looked up and down at the guy, he had a few tattoos and quite a nice body.

 _Fucking_ The Nightmare Before Christmas _tattoos, really?_ Brendon thinks to himself.

The man looks over his shoulder at the younger male, a smirk playing on his lips. “Aye,” He says, nudging Brendon’s arm playfully with his elbow. “A fish!”  
  
“ _What_?”

“Yeah, thought so.” The inmate winks at him, turning fully around in his seat.

“Dude – ” Brendon says defensively.  
  
“ _Pete Wentz_ ,” He responds gingerly, holding out a hand, “The LeBron James of this shithole. Well, basically.”

“ _Basically_ ,” Brendon scoffs, looking back at Ryan who was giving them both a tight-lipped smile.  
  
“ _Basically_ , what’s your name?”  
  
“Brendon. Uh…oh – Urie.”  
  
“HA!” Pete exclaims, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.  
  
“Me and Brendon go way back,” Ryan smiles, and glances at Brendon. “We were best friends in school, weren’t we?”

Brendon nods uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

“Are you screwing with me? Did you know he was coming here?” Pete raises an eyebrow.

“Nah,” Ryan shakes his head. “It was just a coincidence. We’re even _bunk mates_ , could you believe?”

Pete Wentz laughs again, pretty loudly.

“I call him Beebo,” Ryan chirps, practically lying on the table to look at Pete.  
  
“ _Beeboooooo Las Vegas_!”  
  
“Oh _fucking_ – ”  
  
“ **SPEAKING OF** that..” Pete says, casually taking a spoonful of oatmeal, “have you heard some of the guys _fucking_ in here yet?”  
  
Brendon’s lips part, as if he were going to speak, but instead quickly closes them when he sees Pete open his mouth yet again.  
  
_They’d get along perfectly_.

“ – Yeah, dude. It’s fucking _terrifying_. Takin’ it up the poop shoot doesn’t appeal to me. You look like you might enjoy it, though.”  
  
“Wha - _no_?” Brendon questions incredulously.

“Well, even if you’re not into it right now, you will be. Your scrawny ass will probably take the pitch.”

“He’s a bottom,” Ryan butts in with a smirk, “I know that because I, myself, am one.”  
  
“You _fuck_ _guys_ in here?”  
  
“No Beebo, they fuck _me_. If you don’t understand gay sex, I think we should have a talk.”  
  
“Hey, guys, watch your fuckin’ mouths.” Pete tells them, pressing a finger to his lips.

“And you don’t get involved with things like this, _LeBron James of prison_? You don’t like… _LeBron_ them in bed?”  
  
“I’m as straight as my teeth, dude,” Pete Wentz chuckles lightly, showing his undeniably straight teeth.  
  
“Not even on occasion?”  
  
“I like you. Do I look like I’ve fucked a guy, Vegas?” Pete responds, that smirk making itself very apparent on his features.

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe?”

“No, I tell ‘em to beat their own meat and move the fuck on. I have a wife and two kids at home. I like women an awful lot to be _gay_.”

Brendon swallows, giving a small nod. “Yeah, me too…I mean – not the women part –”

“He’s bisexual,” Ryan finishes for him.

“Nothin’ wrong with that!” Pete snorts. “You know, bisexuality doubles your chances of getting laid!”  
  
“I have a wife.”  
  
“Well, just what happens in prison stays in prison. I mean, your asshole will probably be the size of a basketball once you’re outta here, but let her scout that one out on her own.”

“How are you so fucking sure it’ll happen, though?”  
  
“You’re such a whore. I can see it in you, man.”

“You really are a whore, B.” Ryan agrees.

“Don’t call him B. That actually gives _cancer_ to my ears,” Pete groans.  
  
“I’m agreeing to Beebo. I don’t need any more shitty names.” Brendon says, finally taking his first bite of oatmeal.

“Swallow, swallow, swallow!” Pete grins, fist-pumping.

Brendon grimaces as he swallows the food down, only to feel it want to come back up again. _Fuck,_ he missed his coffee, bacon and eggs.

“See, now I know you can swallow that come. Yep, definitely a bottom. It’s just about as nasty. Good luck, though.” Pete then gets up from his seat, along with his tray. “B-R-B, dudes.”

Brendon licks his lips, the grimace not yet seeming to leave his face. He shivers, as if he were taking nasty cough medicine.

“Pete Wentz is cool. If you hang out with him then nobody will mess with you. Though he may be little, he be fierce.” Ryan says, then takes a sip of some milk.  
  
“Fucking _Shakespeare_? _Really_ , Ryan?”

Ryan laughs slightly. “He’s probably the best person you could have around apart from me. That is, if you want to survive. Oh, and by the way, try not mixing up with other races too much.”

Brendon raises his eyebrows. “Huh, and why’s that?”

“Just a tip. That’s how it is around here.”

Brendon felt sick to his stomach. He was pretty sure the oatmeal they serve at the cafeteria was expired of about a week or two. It had the exact texture of glue. He dared taking a sip from his orange juice. It was definitely not as bad as the oatmeal. Pretty tasteless, but the texture remained the same as the one he grew up with.

“Hurry up, Beebo.”

Brendon, though, was incapable of eating faster. The food made him want to puke. What was the point of making food if it did the opposite of what it’s supposed to do?

“Okay, greetings Cum Guzzler and Tight Ass.”

Brendon rolls his eyes at Pete, as he finishes his breakfast. “Is it just as bad every morning?” he asks, still hopeful.

“Yep. It’s not that bad for lunch, though. But you ain’t gonna be eating sushis,” Pete shrugs.

Brendon glances at Ryan, and then stands up to put away his tray and garbage. He looks around, and catches sight of that hot guard that welcomed him so nicely.

“Who’re you lookin’ at?” Ryan asks, following Brendon’s line of sight.  
  
Brendon grunts and swats Ryan in the face, turning to face him. “ – _Y’Fuckin’ serious right now_?”  
  
Ryan’s nose crinkles, breathing out a disgruntled sigh through his nose. “Ow! I was curious, okay?”  
  
“Who’re you all staring at?” Pete asks loudly, pushing the pair apart just enough to squeeze in between, draping his arms over their shoulders.  
  
“Would you fuckfarts _shut up_?”  
  
“ _Relaaaaax_ , Vegas!” Pete pats his shoulder, with a wide grin on his face, then retracts his arms, stepping backwards. “Nobody here is against you, we just wanna see who your topper is.”  
  
Brendon reddens. “I – ”

“I think Ryan does, more than anyone. Who knows, maybe _he’ll_ be your topper.”

“Well I wasn’t looking at _him_ , wasI?”

He can hear Pete snort behind him, then a faint sound of someone imitating an explosion.  
  
“Thanks, Beebo.” Ryan says sarcatically.  
  
“Ryan, we were friends. We got completely fucked up together in high school, and yet we still never tried anything. I think it’s more of a goddamn sign than anything else.”

“What, so marijuana acts as a Magic 8 Ball or something?”  
  
“Ryan – ”

“ – No, I get it. I get it.”

An alarm rings again, announcing the end of breakfast, this time much shorter and quieter than the last. All three of them walk out, Brendon behind Ryan and Pete to follow them.

_Why did they need to put so many fucking alarms in this place?_

“So, uh, what do we do all day long?” Brendon asks. He’d been told vaguely by some counselor dude namedStump the day before, but he had been so freaked out about being in prison with _Ryan fucking Ross_ to have listened to anything the man said.

“There’s the work you probably picked yesterday, and as for breaks, there’s a field, and a television inside. A church if you’re the religious kind of guy, but I’d be surprised. Not much you can do, really. You’re allowed to phone your family and your wife and shit. There are barely any breaks though, but apparently enough for guys to find the time to fuck each other. I brought a fuck ton of books and shit,” Pete answers.

“Well, that’s just _great_. I’ve got to be locked up in this damn place and I also have to be bored most of the time,” Brendon mutters.

“I doubt you’ll be bored much with Ryan over here to satisfy your sexual needs, _huh_?” Pete grins teasingly, nudging Ryan.

—

The day passes, and Brendon feels more and more exhausted. He works outside, doing gardening, in company of Ryan. The day had felt incredibly long. He had no idea how he’d make it out alive. A year in this goddamn _hell_?

His heart drops when he thinks about Sarah. She was probably worried sick about him, with no way of checking how he was doing. Plus, it was only Tuesday. Visiting days were Saturday and Sunday, as he’d been told by Pete. He wouldn’t get to see her until four fucking days.

Brendon spent the evening break eating dinner and talking with Pete and Ryan. He didn’t feel safe talking with other inmates, they all seemed pretty hostile (no wonder – he was in a fucking _prison_ ) or simply rude. Surprisingly, he spotted the attractive officer a few times during the day. They even exchanged looks once, and Brendon winked at him. It really didn’t seem to bother him that much, in fact he seemed into it. He would have expected the man to report him or something like that, but it was like he was _inviting_ the inmate to flirt with him.

—

Ryan had indeed noticed Brendon looking at the officer. He did plan on doing something about it. Brendon was _his_. Yes, they had been only friends in high school, but Ryan wanted to fuck him from the moment he laid eyes on him. Brendon’s perfect full lips, his dark eyes, his goddamn _ass_. Everything about the man was perfect to Ryan. He had always kept his crush on his best friend a secret because he felt that Brendon wouldn’t have reciprocated. After all, they were best friends and Brendon probably had never thought of Ryan as more than that - a friend. But watching him distantly flirt with a guard made him extremely jealous. He had to claim Brendon as his, and his only.

After all, like Pete said: _What happens in prison stays in prison._

There was no reason for Brendon’s wife to ever find out about this. Wasn’t Brendon allowed to have a little bit of fun in this sucky place?

When they finished showering, Brendon and Ryan went back to their cell, and Pete went back to his. This had probably been the longest day in Brendon’s life. Everything still felt pretty surreal. He had fucked up so badly. Well, at least he wasn’t entirely alone. He had Ryan. And Pete.

They sit on Brendon’s bed and Ryan looks at Brendon. “So,” he sighs, "how did you find your day?”

“ _Fuckin’ wonderful_ ,” he replies with sarcasm.

Ryan snickers. “At least you didn’t find yourself in a high security prison. That would have been so much worse than this. You’ll get used to it. I mean, not all of it. But at least the work. Plus you have me around to look after your ass.”

Brendon smiles, and then nods. They talk until the lights go out, and even then they still stay on Brendon’s bed, talking discretely. Guards didn’t pass by often, Ryan tells Brendon. And if they don’t speak too loudly, there is barely any chance anyone could ever catch them.

They sit in silence for a while, until Ryan says, “You know, I noticed you checking that officer out today.”

Brendon laughs uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you. You don’t have to deny it.”

Brendon bites the inside of his lip. “Fine, I…I might have glanced at him a little. I can't seem to get the hang of the idea that I _am_ married, and in prison. Filled with a bunch of guys.” He didn’t know what he was doing, but Pete was definitely right about the asshole thing.

Ryan just stares at him. “You want him to fuck you? Is that it? You're just horny; looking for a good _fuck_. Hasn't anyone told you to get it all out _before_ you go to prison?”

“I … ”

“He’s not going to,” Ryan moves closer to him, and says: “You’re _mine_.”

  
“Ryan…” Brendon mutters. He knows getting this close to him is a bad idea. He used to have a _massive_ crush on the guy years back. Being in the same cell as him for a year and keeping his pants on seemed impossible when Brendon thought about it.

As much as he hated admitting it, the way Ryan claimed Brendon as his and whispered in his ear made Brendon so hard.

There was no ifs ands or buts to it; Brendon was Ryan’s now and there wasn’t a single thing that he could do about it.  
  
_He was Ryan’s bitch_.

The thought never really had occurred to him before, that he’d even give this a second thought; if even a single one. Brendon was always prone to being the dominant one of the pair; well, at least that’s how it was with Sarah, and the few guys he had experimented with over the years. But when one practically treats him with authority...well, he wouldn’t mind it all that much. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d be able to get used to it.

And besides… _fuck_ , that was so hot. Brendon really didn’t want to be unfaithful to Sarah, but Ryan didn’t give him much choice. Besides, if anything happened, how could Sarah possibly find out about it? It wasn’t as if she looked at his goddamn asshole very often, much less penetrate it. She couldn’t really find out unless he told her himself, which he would never be stupid enough to do.

He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this.

But at the same time…he had to find _something_ to distract him here…

How could he turn down such a good-looking man who was offering to fuck him, to distract him in this shithole?

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks.

He leans in, and kisses Ryan. It felt so fucking _good_. It felt so relieving to actually do it for once - he had been craving that kiss for so long without even realizing it.

He _had_ needed this for a long time. There was something so different about kissing guys; it was probably the roughness of it. Ryan deepens the kiss, clutching Brendon’s shoulders.

“I’m the only one who’ll fuck you,” he hisses, and pushes Brendon down on the bed, placing himself on top of him. ”I’m all you _will_ have.”

Brendon begins to remove his own jumpsuit as quick as he could, kissing Ryan hungrily. This was all so weird, not only considering getting fucked in this place, _bareback_ , but also that the person who was about to fuck him used to be a close friend.

“You know,” Ryan whispers in Brendon’s neck, “I’ve wanted you from the day we met.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the other replies, finally rid of all his clothes. He starts to undress Ryan, hoping they weren’t making too much noise. They would be in so much trouble if they got caught. “You talk too much.”

Soon enough, they were both entirely naked, yet Ryan continues to tease Brendon, sucking and biting on his neck. Brendon clenches his fists, breathing heavily, praying to _God_ that he didn’t leave a hickey on his neck. That would just validate even more the fact that Pete was right.

“Just _fuck me_ already,” Brendon grunts, raising his pelvis, his body against Ryan’s, just begging for friction.

Ryan smirks as he starts to stroke the other inmate’s cock slowly, ignoring his complaints. Brendon gasps, throwing his head back. Ryan immediately stops and backs away. “Turn around,” he orders. Brendon happily obeys, his stomach on the mattress and his face touching the pillow. He spreads his legs slightly, precome already beginning to leak on the bed.

Ryan gets up on his knees, caressing Brendon’s calf gently. “Spread your cheeks,” he tells him, and Brendon obliges once again, trying not to laugh at the phrase like a fucking infant. He feels Ryan’s finger prod at his asshole, and the moment it enters him he moans loudly into the hard pillow, leaning into Ryan’s touch.

It had been a while since he had been fingered, especially without lubricant, so he immediately clenched around Ryan’s digit, trying to muffle the noise he was making by pressing his face against the pillow.

Once his finger was fully inserted in Brendon’s hole, Ryan begins to thrust it, then adds a second finger. The _sounds_ that Brendon was making were fucking amazing. Only hearing them could have made Ryan orgasm very quickly.

“ _Please…_ ” Brendon begs. “I’m ready. I want your cock inside me - _Christ_!” he whined in the pillow as Ryan’s fingertip brushed his prostate.

Ryan removes his fingers and lines up with Brendon’s entrance, pressing himself on the other’s back and penetrating him slowly. Brendon instantly grasps the pillow, moaning loudly. _Fuck_ , it hurt so badly. But he sort of liked the pain; it was actually even more pleasuring with it. It didn’t hurt because he hadn’t done this before, because he had, a long time ago, but he had been prepared at least. Plus, even prepared it had hurt a bit. However he definitely wasn’t going to complain about it. As soon as Ryan’s dick hit his prostate, he felt a bolt of pleasure rippling through him. He didn’t remember the last time he felt this good, but _christ_ , Ryan knew how to fuck a man.

Ryan grabs Brendon’s hips, and, at a slow pace, thrusts into him. He digs his nails into Brendon’s skin, breathing heavily. “ _You’re mine_ ,” he repeats, practically muttering at this point.

Brendon groans as Ryan pushes deeper inside him. The intensity of everything overwhelmed him, and it had been a long time since he’d experience something similar to this, if ever. It was indescribable.

“Do you think he’d want to _fuck_ you, huh? Once he’ll know how much of a whore you are for me. How much you beg for it,” Ryan speeds up his rhythm, moving his hands to Brendon’s dark hair and pulling it roughly. “It’s a shame he’s never going to feel how tight your ass is.”

“Shut your fucking mouth and _fuck my ass_ , for christ’s sake,” Brendon groans desperately.

Ryan obliges, accelerating his pace and pounding fast into Brendon. Brendon doesn't know if he could last – he is desperately rocking on the bed as Ryan fucks him, grunting and trying his best not to scream.

“Shit…Ryan – I'm gonna fucking come – ” he warns. He wants to last longer, but at the same time he wanted this over with; he felt guilty enough as it is.

And exactly when Brendon says that, Ryan grabs the other inmate's cock once again, stroking him teasingly as he keeps on fucking his asshole.

“I can't – ” Brendon comes, spilling everywhere on the sheets, moaning Ryan's name over and over again. “Fuck you…”

Brendon's ass clenches as he orgasms, but Ryan keeps thrusting into him, until he finally comes as well, biting and kissing the back of Brendon’s neck.

The sensation of Ryan’s come filling his ass made him arch his back in pleasure. It felt amazing, yet strange at the same time. He had never felt this before in his life. Whenever he got fucked, he would never do it without a condom and he was the top, most of the time.

As soon as Ryan pulled away, the semen dripped out of his asshole, and Brendon breathes heavily, his forehead against the pillow in exhaustion.

He couldn't believe he just got fucked _without a condom_ , in a damn prison. But fuck, if it hadn't been the best sex he's had in a long time, if ever.

He was definitely going to regret this.

At least it had been worth it.


	3. You Don't Really Care For Music, Do You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am so sorry neither of us updated this fanfiction, things have been really crazy for me and we kept talking about it but we never really did it? So yeah, if anyone cared, here's chapter three. If you liked it, please comment or give it kudos. 
> 
> I also don't mind criticism as long as it's not hate.
> 
> And for those who asked, yes there will be Brallon in a while, don't worry. 
> 
> We'll try to keep this updated as much as we can from now on, because we really both love this fanfiction. I hope you do too! -David (brallons)

Brendon is lying on his bed. The exact moment he woke up, he realized how fucking _sore_ his ass was. He had been awake for quite a while, but he had been staring at the bottom of the top bunk, completely and utterly lost in his thoughts. The morning alarm was probably going to go off soon, however Brendon only assumed it would because of the lighting; he had no watch. He woke up early – probably because of all the guilt he felt. Getting fucked - _without_ _protection_ \- cheating on Sarah, and not only that, but with his goddamn high school best friend. He turned on his side and groaned.

He had promised her. He promised he wouldn’t have sex here. Sure, he might have said it jokingly, but it was still a _promise_. And she trusted him. She _stayed_ with him.

Even with all of the culpability, he still didn’t _entirely_ regret having sex with Ryan. He gave it to him so fucking well, and just thinking about Ryan whispering sweet nothings almost made him hard. He wondered if Ryan would take advantage of the situation to prove Pete right, or he would keep this between them. Knowing Ryan, he would probably just keep it a secret but tease him in front of Pete for his own amusement.

He rolls over, pressing his palm against the soft mattress and smoothing it across the sheets, in search of his glasses.

“Fuckin’ – ”

Cutting himself short once he hears Ryan begin to stir, he decides to mouth the rest of his sentence. “Where the fuck – ”

“ – Beebo?”  
  
It’s then that Brendon freezes in his place. He doesn’t want to face Ryan just yet; he still had thinking to do. If he were to bring up the situation they had been in that previous night, Brendon would have to cut him short.   
  
_Tell him you’re married_.   
  
This excuse seemed to work quite well, from what he’d seen in the movies - it may not go well in the beginning, but they always seem to come ‘round.   
  
“Beebo, are you awake? We need to eat soon,” Ryan murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The nonchalantness laced within his voice almost drove Brendon up the wall, the fact that Ryan acts as if nothing had happened between them at all infuriated him to no end. Know what? Fuck it, he _was_ angry about it.   
  
“Brendon Boyd – ”  
  
“ – Oh, _fuck you_ ,” Brendon groans in response, tugging the one lone sheet up and over his head.  
  
“Sorry, I’m afraid you did that _last night_ ,” Ryan says, a wicked grin stretching across his features.

“That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Leave me _alone_.”  
  
“ _One night and one more time_ ,” Ryan sings as he crawls off to the edge of the bed, carefully getting down by the ladder, stretching as his feet touch the ground. “ _thanks for the memories_.”  
  
“Again, as I said, _fuck you_.”  
  
“ _Who does he think he is_?”  
  
“I said _stop it_ –”

“What, is my singing bothering you?”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
“I thought you were complaining about Pete’s lyrics,” He says, almost bluntly.  
  
“…Pete writes songs?”  
  
“Uh, yeah?”   
  
“And those were lyrics to his song?”

  
“ _Yyyyyup_.”

“What does he call it?”  
  
“Thanks for the Memories, apparently.”  
  
“Okay, that’s all I needed to know. Now kindly leave me the _fuck alone_.”

“Ah, Beebo, so feisty! Kinda turns me on; not lyin’.”  
  
“You’re doing this just to spite me.” Brendon rolls over whilst still hiding under the sheet. Ryan can’t see the face he’s pulling of course, but if he could, and if looks could kill; Ryan would be no more.  
  
  
“Maybe. We bottomed for bottomed - I’m sure you know that of course,” He explains, running his fingers through his hair.   
  
Brendon’s eyes flit up in the voice’s direction, a snarl bubbling up in his chest. “ _I don’t want to talk about it anymore, **Ryan**_ ,” He spits out, the words dripping from his mouth like venom. “So just leave me the _fuck alone!_ ”

“You know I don’t mean anything by it – ” Ryan says, shifting his weight onto his opposite leg.

“Mean anything by it?! By what?!” Brendon shifts under the sheet; suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He tears the sheet from his face, bolting upright. “Are you _fucking kidding me_? You don’t mean anything BY your constant _teasing_? So fucking me was a huge _goddamn_ joke to you. Well it didn’t mean anything to me either.” He snarls, internally thanking himself for not finding his glasses beforehand. If he could have seen Ryan’s expression, he may have just felt a _tad bit_ bad for him.

Ryan’s jaw clenches at Brendon’s last remark, eyes narrowing quite dangerously.   
  
“I think you forgot the fact that _I’m married_.” Brendon hisses, his harsh tone sending shivers down his own spine.

“ – Yeah?” Ryan asks calmly; almost too calm.

“ _Don’t fuck around with me_. You knew I was married when I first got here.”

“Then why’d you let me fuck you? Huh? Since you wanna play that card with me. Think about it next time, Brendon. Use your head.” Ryan retorts, swallowing harshly. “And when you do, come back to me. I’m going to eat breakfast.”  
  
Doe eyes widen a fraction, and throat constricts as he watches the inmate leave the cell quietly and collectively - acting as though the argument had never even happened to begin with.

Brendon’s breath hitches when he hears the door click shut behind Ryan, hand absentmindedly in search for his glasses. Fingers soon come into contact with a hard frame, most likely the band of his glasses. They curl around the frames, pulling them out from under the pillow; gradually and carefully opening the stems of the glasses and sliding them on; index finger instinctively pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

He tugs the sheet off of his entire body, only to pull it right back on top of him. Shit. He’d forgotten that he’d went to sleep naked. “Damn it,” He mumbles, glazed eyes scanning over the cell for his jumpsuit.   
  
He rolls out of the bunk, accidentally but almost intentionally onto the floor - sheet wrapped around his groin like a skirt.

“Nice.” He mumbles tiredly, resting his head against the cool, cemented floor. Pupils shrink at the bright, fluorescent light. He blinks, chewing at his bottom lip out of habit. If he had it his way, he would have gotten high by now.   
  
“Urie. Up n’ at ‘em,” Brendon hears in the doorway.   
  
“Okay, yeah, up n’ at ‘em right in my ass.” He says lazily.   
  
“I’m not playing around. Come on, Urie.”  
  
“… _No_.”  
  
“Get dressed and come out here.”   
  
“I’ll gladly walk around with my dick out.”  
  
Brendon hears the officer sigh, then he hears the sound of skin on skin. He’d made the officer facepalm. Nice.

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me guess: you’re a holy man. You go to church with the family on Sundays, eat out afterwards. That kinda guy, huh? Don’t believe in nudity. Well, then,” he says with a smirk, pushing himself up with the support of his elbows. He then moves to all fours, pressing palms against the floor and bare feet as well, gaining enough energy to right himself. Normally, he would never have enough courage to stand up to someone - let alone an officer. Today, though, today was not a good day.

When he stands, the sheet rolls off his hips and pools around his feet. He is not facing the officer, no, not yet. He decides to get a little cocky with it ( pun intended ), and places his hands on his hips before he confidently turns around. Chocolate hues meet deep blues and –

 _Oh fuck_.

“ _Oh, my God_.” Brendon whispers, his jaw dropping.

“A-aahh…” The officer manages, weak and shaky. His eyes seem to flip flop between the inmate’s eyes and his…penis.

“I’m – d-uhh… _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ – ”

“ – no need.” The officer cuts in.

“Officer _Weekes_ , look – ”

“I said no _need_ , Urie. How about you u-uh… march your confident little _ass_ over to the corner and get dressed, okay? And when you’re done, m-muh-meet me out here.”

“ _I’m sorry_.”

“Bet you are. Perhaps I’ll forgive you out of kindness. After all, I am a _holy man_ , _Brother Urie_.” He quickly steps out of the cell, slamming the door behind him.   
  
Brendon noticed the red tint to the officer’s face once he’d seen his…package, more or less. “You’re a funny guy,” he mumbles, a grin evident on his features.

“Though, _good song idea_.”

—

“DUDE – ” Pete practically shouts, shoving a spoonful of…whatever it was into his mouth, packing it into the side of his cheek like a squirrel, “ _YOU SHOWED HIM YOUR DICK_?”

“Be quiet, dick-bite!” Brendon shushes him, eyebrows laced together in annoyance.

Pete chuckles, ducking his head down slightly. “Willingly, too. Like you released the fuckin’ kraken on him, dude.”

“It’s average – ”

“Dude. I’m not here askin’ to compare dick sizes, I’m just statin’ facts.” He says, swallowing the mushed up mess he had stored in his cheek.

“I know, I was just…look,” Brendon tells him softly, licking his lips and glancing over his shoulder, “last night was…kinda fucked up n’ left me in a bad position today.”

“Yeah, dude, I know. Ryan told me you bottomed for bottomed. I told you, didn’t I?” Pete grins.

“Wh – you fuckin’ _serious_?”

“As serious as my sexuality, man.”

“He did it to spite me.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. He’s just poutin’. You should hear him when Todd fucks him and then tells him he just needed some relief that night, he gets all bitchy and says things he shouldn’t. He’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

“Yup, I get it. He was like that in school. Especially during the parent/teacher conferences,” Brendon says as he eyes Ryan, who was sitting two tables away from them with someone he hadn’t seen before in the prison.

Ryan had a, what Brendon called a wicked grin, a _shit-eating_ grin on his face. He and the other inmate seemed to get on fairly well, from what he could see. To Brendon’s misfortune, though, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealously begin to build inside his chest. Perhaps it was just the whole…’you’re my only friend in prison’ sort of thing - or maybe it was because of the whole ‘one night alone together; fuck me’ thing.

“Who’s that sitting with him?” Brendon asks abruptly, stopping Pete from forming any kind of response to his previous statement.

“Thaaaat’s Jon Walker. Him and Ryan are all buddy-buddy. Prison thing, though. It’s that ‘you scratch my back; I’ll scratch yours’ sorta relationship.”

“They don’t really seem like the type of people that fit into that sort of category. You know? Like it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, you are pretty stupid. I get it.”

Brendon’s eyes flit over to Pete, instantly staring daggers at him. “I’m not stupid. I’m just reading between the lines.”

Pete lets out a hearty chuckle, eyes downcast. “Haha, ahh. I’m just kickin’ your dick.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s better than saying pulling your leg. Sounds too church-y.”

“ _Church-y_?”

“Look, are you really trying to prove my point here? It’s exactly what you think it is. Have you heard the term ‘a kitchen sink to you, is not a kitchen sink to me’?”

“… _Okay, friend_.” Brendon mumbles, his jaw clenching in embarrassment.

“I love those guys. Too sweet to be in here, though.”  
  
“Are they a kitchen sink? I don’t know what that means.”

“I guess so. Two sluts looking for a buck, if you ask me. They came in here as a joint. Basically…like a…package deal.”

“He helped smuggle all that shit? Him?” Brendon points over to the brunette, arching a brow.   
  
“Well, you look like a pussy on a roller coaster, too, so I don’t really think you don’t have much room to talk.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Brendon replies, scoffing. Right when he says that, Ryan stands up from the bench with his tray in his hands, nodding towards his…friend. He looks at Brendon again, that same annoying grin on his face, and sits down next to him.

“You done ignoring me?” Ryan asks, turning his body to face Brendon.

“So _I_ was ignoring _you_ now?”

“Will you guys quit acting like five-year-olds and move on?” Pete sighs, sipping his milk. Brendon and Ryan both turn to fix Pete, and then continued eating their breakfast in silence.

“ _He_ ’s acting like a five-year-old. I’m not the one who fucked someone and pretended nothing happened the morning after.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the one who _agreed_ to get fucked, then used his wife as an excuse to blame it on me,” Ryan rests his head on his hand, looking up at Brendon.

He _did_ have a point. But Brendon was too stubborn to just let him win, so he rolls his eyes and turned back to Pete.

He ignores Ryan’s existence during the whole day, until they get back to their cell and he was way too bored and needed a distraction. Brendon felt way too guilty to agree to have sex with him again, but he talked to him until they eventually fell asleep.

—

The next morning, the usual line-up is performed; get up, hygiene, go to the dining hall to have breakfast. Instead, Brendon walks alone to the cafeteria; quiet and untouched. He sees people staring – of course Ryan had to tell. He was the prison whore, and Brendon was the runner-up.

Brendon spots Ryan from the corner of his eye, though elects to keep moving forward. It’s better if they only spoke _behind closed doors_.

“Hey, hey, hey, Peter Pencil Dick!” Pete calls, stopping the boy by shoulder.

“God dammit,” Brendon mumbles, strands of black hair falling in his face; shielding the lenses of his glasses. “I do have a name, Pete.”

Pete allows a loud snort to escape him, whipping around and dragging Brendon by the wrist. “But then it’s no fun.”

They near the cafeteria, and all of a sudden, it feels as though Brendon’s chest is shattered like broken glass. He doesn’t know why, but he feels as though he will soon enough.

—

  


“You’ve never told me about your wife, Beebs,” Ryan says, petting Brendon’s hair as they lay side by side.

“I like to think that it’s my business, Ryan,” Brendon hums, his body pressed up against Ryan - and for some reason, he feels…loved. Adored. Cherished. Something…something you rarely feel in prison. The only other time he had was…with the prison guard he’d bumped into very few times. Few times it had been, but each time it felt like an eternity. Words weren’t needed, in his head – if they were spoken he’d surely fuck it up.

“Just like the music thing was your business. You handled it, while I was just your _fucking canary_. While pretty boy _played guitar_.”

“Stop it, Brendon,” the brunette mutters harshly, ceasing his movements completely.

“Why? You can’t say that it’s not true. You manipulated me - you made me feel like I was _something_. Instead, I was just your _tweety-bird_.”

Ryan just strokes Brendon’s hair softly, and this felt so familiar for some reason. _Just like old times_. Just like when they were teenagers. “Shut up, Bren, you know that _isn’t_ true. At least…that wasn’t want I wanted you to feel like,” he mutters, caressing the back of Brendon’s head, where his hair was shaved and soft.

“Come on, Ryan. You aren’t fooling anyone. You and I both know that was the way you wanted it,” Brendon mumbles, but he doesn’t pull away from the touch of Ryan’s warm hands on the back of his head. Instead, he leans in, closing his eyes. Physical contact definitely was not something he had expected to get from prison. Especially not with _Ryan Ross_. He expected to be masturbating every night as he thought about Sarah. Which wasn’t exactly the case so far. He sighs, and shooks his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. That was years ago. Everything has changed so much since then.”

“Yeah…”

Brendon shuffles on the bed, letting Ryan hold him close. He definitely wouldn’t complain about this; about the way Ryan treated him now. He didn’t say anything else, because he knew it was pointless to argue about the past. About things they couldn’t change.

After a couple of minutes that seemed more like seconds to Brendon, he is sure he can hear Ryan crying. He probably thought he was asleep, because Ryan barely cried in front of people. Actually, Brendon couldn’t remember a time he saw Ryan cry. “R-Ry? Are you…crying?” Brendon whispers and turns around to look up at his cellmate.

Ryan immediately shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He evidently didn’t expect Brendon to notice. “Sorry. No, it’s nothing…” he says. “I’m just tired.”

“No, you’re not _just tired,_ Ryan, you’re crying…” he reaches up and places his hand on Ryan’s cheek, wiping a small tear. They were just friends, right? This was nothing more. He was just being a good friend, he was just trying to help Ryan. He was just trying to console him. “Why are you crying?”

“I just–,” Ryan starts off, but his voice breaks, and he swallows thickly, hand hovering over Brendon’s. “I’m sorry, Brendon.”

Brendon doesn’t ask why he was sorry, or better still, he finds that he needs not ask any other questions. He just nods softly, lacing their fingers together. “It’s _okay_ , Ryan,” he whispers. He knows what Ryan means, and at the same time, he’s clueless. He could name plenty of reasons why Ryan would be sorry.

They stay silent for a while, just looking at each other. It was obvious they were both needing this – being able to cuddle someone, to cry and be _comforted_. Brendon doesn’t cry, though. He just hugs Ryan, trying to make him feel better, while also not having a clue why Ryan was upset.

Ryan ends up kissing him, and Brendon kisses back. He doesn’t want to pull away, he doesn’t want to ever stop kissing him. He feels safe like this - in Ryan’s arms. He almost even forgets about Sarah for a few moments. Ryan didn’t seem to care much, and Brendon couldn’t blame him. He needed this sort of comfort, otherwise he didn’t know if he was going to make it in this place.

How could Sarah know, right? She would never find out. Besides, Brendon needed this, and he hadn’t seen Ryan in years. They couldn’t really avoid this. As cute as that prison guard was, Brendon knew he wouldn’t have a shot with him. And how could he refuse Ryan when he was treating him this well?

They are still kissing, and Ryan was beginning to kiss harder, tugging on Brendon’s hair slightly. Brendon doesn’t pull away until a couple of minutes, eying Ryan. “It’s okay,” he repeats, and he lets Ryan lie on his back, before straddling his middle as they make out. Brendon knows it’s wrong, and he knows that he was going to feel extremely guilty afterwards, like last time, but he doesn’t care, for some _fucked up_ reason. He just wants to comfort Ryan. He just wants his attention; his _love_.

Brendon doesn’t know how long they have been kissing for, but he can feel Ryan’s wet cheeks against his skin, and he knew he was crying again. He doesn’t say anything, but he pulls away to kiss at Ryan’s jawline, getting rid of his jumpsuit rather quickly. Ryan doesn’t say anything, and neither does Brendon.

Brendon trails kisses down Ryan’s chest. He’s always been pretty good at this – at pleasuring people and making them feel better. Ryan laces his fingers in Brendon’s dark hair again, and the younger man stops kissing his body when his lips touch his waistline. Instead, he wraps a hand around the base of Ryan’s cock, slowly jerking it off.

Ryan whimpers softly and when Brendon looks up at him, he notices him still crying. “I’ll make you feel better,” he murmurs, then presses his lips on the head of his dick. He begins lapping at the tip, making sure to keep Ryan’s hips pinned on the bed with his palms and prevent him from thrusting up. He can see that Ryan is desperate, which only makes him tease further, licking up his length before finally taking him in his mouth, earning a low moan from Ryan. He forgets they are currently on a goddamn _prison bed_ , and that Brendon is married. He just lowers his lips down on Ryan’s length, and doesn’t even gag. He bobs his head slowly and carefully, trying to give the best he could and make Ryan better.

Ryan eventually pulls on Brendon’s hair slightly, praising him and whispering dirty things. It was obvious he was loving it and was desperate for release. Brendon doesn’t want him to come yet, so he pulls away and smirks up at Ryan.

“Brendon, _fuck_ ,” Ryan breathes out shakily, clenching his fists around Brendon’s dark hair. “P- _please_.” Brendon ignores Ryan’s pleas, smiling to himself as he strokes his cock painfully slow. After some time, he continues sucking him, and he knew Ryan wasn’t going to last long and that he was extremely close.

Brendon’s intention to make Ryan feel better definitely seemed to be working, because Ryan was moaning Brendon’s name in pleasure, over and over again. It only takes a few more minutes before Ryan is coming in Brendon’s mouth without warning. Brendon swallows some of it, but mostly just let it drool down his chin as he pulled away.

He wipes his mouth, sitting up on his knees as he looked up to Ryan. “That was fucking great, Bren,” Ryan whispers to his cellmate, bringing him up again to kiss his lips, tasting himself on them.

Brendon just smiles softly after kissing Ryan back, and rests his head on his chest. They don’t say anything else after that, and as Brendon drifts off to sleep, he can hear Ryan say something in the distance. It’s so far away, and it’s really hard to make out what he has said, but Brendon swears he hears a soft ‘ _I love you_ ’.


	4. From Your Lips, She Drew The Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time since this fanfic hasn't been updated and I don't know if anyone was waiting for an update (I hope so) but here it is! Thank you for the comment (since there was only one) and the kudos! I still love this, and we're planning on continuing. We've both been pretty much busy, so it's hard to update regularly. But I am curious to see where this could be going, since I don't know more than you guys.
> 
> Again, please comment if you liked/disliked this chapter, and leave positive criticism please! Also, if you ever find any spelling or grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me. 
> 
> You are also very much welcome to message us on tumblr, twitter, etc. 
> 
> **David**   
>  tumblr: [ godbeebo ](http://godbeebo.com/)  
>  snapchat: james.brendon   
>  twitter: [ davidjlazure ](https://twitter.com/davidjlazure)
> 
> **Mak**   
>  tumblr: [ jesusbeebo ](http://jesusbeebo.tumblr.com)   
>  twitter: [ brendonuriies ](https://twitter.com/brendonuriies)
> 
> Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The next morning, neither Brendon or Ryan talk about what had happened the night before. They just pretend it is normal to wake up in the same bed, cuddled under the thin blanket. Brendon doesn’t mention it, and Ryan doesn’t, either. They talk and they laugh together, but not once does Brendon make any allusions to sucking Ryan the night before. 

That night, they simply go back into their own, separate beds and fall asleep without a word exchanged.

The more time goes by, the more Brendon dreads seeing Sarah again. How would he even be able to look at her in the eye again? He loves her so much, and yet he cheated on her. Does he really have such little self-control? 

He doesn’t think he’d ever get rid of the guilt that filled him whenever he thought about Ryan. No. Even after leaving prison, he doubts that it would ever go away. He would be reminded of his unfaithfulness every day of his life. And he would deserve it. He is a horrible husband and a disgusting person. Just because he is in prison, that doesn’t mean he was allowed to cheat on his wife, right? He  _ can _ control himself, especially with just some guy he used to be best friends with. 

When the visitation day comes, Brendon spends an unhealthy amount of time in his bed, trying to forget all of his problems. He goes down to eat breakfast with Ryan and Pete, sighing deeply as he stares down at his expired yogurt. “I’m seeing Sarah today,” he mumbles. 

“Well, shouldn’t you be happy about it?” Pete responds, glaring up at Brendon.  Ryan is too focused on his food to say anything.

Brendon shakes his head, scoffing. “Of course not. I’m letting my ex best friend fuck me, and I’ve been in prison for a couple of days. She’ll see how different I am, and how the whole marriage thing isn’t gonna work,” he mutters, sighing softly. “Wish I could just avoid talking to her.”

“Well, don’t go, in that case,” Pete shrugs simply and Brendon snorts. “Right, as if it’s that easy. We’re  _ married _ . I can’t just  _ decide _ not to see her. She’s driven all the way here to see me.” 

“I told you it wouldn’t be that easy, man. I told you you wouldn’t be able to control yourself in here,” Pete smirks proudly. 

Brendon shakes his head, moving away from Pete and closer to Ryan as he ate his yogurt, rolling his eyes. “Can you remind me why you stick around with him, please?” 

Ryan stares up at Brendon, then glances at Pete. “He’s a funny guy,” he simply shrugs, and Brendon looks back at his own yogurt in disgust. 

After breakfast finishes, Brendon showers and works as he is supposed to, until the visitation hours start. He had been debating to himself all day whether he should go or not – what would Sarah think if he didn’t? What would be his excuse? And if he did go, what would he tell her? Would he tell her how unfaithful he had been? Would he even mention Ryan to her, or would he just pretend he’s on his own all the time? He had never even mentioned Ryan to her. Ryan had just been some stupid high school crush back then, and he didn’t exactly want Sarah knowing that he swung both ways. Let’s just say Ryan had never really been a subject Brendon would bring up at the dining table. 

He sighs softly as he heads to the visitation room, his palms sweaty, legs shaking a little. He shouldn’t be nervous. He had nothing to be nervous about. She would never find out. It would never happen again, anyways, and once Brendon would be out of jail, he would forget all about Ryan and Pete and everyone else. 

There was no reason for her to ever find out about his little homosexual affair with his high school best friend. 

He feels as if every step he took was a step closer to his death. Not  _ literally _ , but he felt as if he had been condemned, and there was no escape. Shouldn’t he be happy to see his wife again? He swallows thickly,  and he can swear that his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

When he finally gets in the visitation room and sees Sarah sitting there, it suddenly feels all better. It’s not that bad. It’s fine. He is just fucking a guy as an extracurricular activity inside prison, but it’s no big deal.  _ Sarah _ is here. His  _ wife _ . He offers her a nervous smile, and she looks at him, worry filled in her eyes as she stands up from her seat. “God…” she whispers, and he immediately rushes to her, taking her into his arms and hugging her tight. He chuckles nervously, convinced that she could feel his heart beating as fast as it was – pounding quickly inside his rib cage.

He doesn’t even manage to say hello to her before getting cut by a guard. “No hugging,” he says in a rather monotone voice, and Brendon realizes immediately who it is.  
_ Weekes _ . 

He rolls his eyes, immediately pulling away from Sarah. He hasn’t seen her in a week, and they won’t even let him fucking  _ hug _ her. He sits down instead, and Sarah mirrors his action, smiling at him. 

He has tons to say to her, but for some reason, nothing was coming out at all.  _ Fuck _ , if only Ryan hadn’t been there. He could have been loyal, and he wouldn’t feel this guilty being around Sarah. 

“Oh my god, you look like crap, baby,” she says, and finally breaks the silence. 

“Thanks,” Brendon replies sarcastically, but with a small, forced smile. “I wonder why. It’s not like I’ve been in a motherfucking  _ prison _ for the past  _ week _ .”

Sarah offers him a small smile anyway. “Sorry. I just...I didn’t expect you to look like this after only a week,” she admits quietly. “How is it so far? Did you make any friends? Tell me everything.”

Brendon bites his lip. He still hasn’t made his mind on what exactly he  _ should _ tell her. He shouldn’t mention Ryan. It would just complicate things. “Friends? You know that kind of stuff doesn’t exist in here,” he shrugs. “I hang out with this guy, yeah. His name is Pete, and he’s a lyricist. Hell of a good writer,” he nods, reaching for Sarah’s hand across the table, squeezing it. “It’s...it’s unlike everything I’ve ever experienced before. I hate it. I feel like I’ve been in here for years, and there’s still so much time to go, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it... There’s  _ so _ much gay sex,” he sighs softly, pretending that actually bothered him. It might make Sarah a little less suspicious, right? 

Sarah strokes his hand soothingly, and pulls it up to her lips to kiss it softly. “Babe, it’s only temporary. Remember? It’ll be okay. You made mistakes, and now you’ve gotta deal with the consequences. You know that. I’m here for you, though. And I’ll always be there for you, no matter what.” 

Brendon nods to acknowledge her words and somehow, they comforted him. He feels a little more relaxed, closing his eyes and focusing on Sarah stroking his hand. “Thank you,” he finally responds, opening his eyes to look at her. She is so beautiful, and suddenly, Brendon remembers the reason why he married her. She manages to calm him down like no one else can, she is stunning, extremely generous and kind. He loves  _ her _ . Not Ryan, not anyone else. He is completely hers. 

With the way she is talking to him, he’s pretty sure he can manage a little self-control when he’s around Ryan. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? He’s married to a wonderful woman who’s willing to stay with him, even though he’s in prison. Shouldn’t he be a little thankful?

“You didn’t let anyone seduce you, did you?” she asks playfully, and Brendon laughs nervously. He’s got this. 

“What? Of course not, baby. I’m all yours,” he whispered, and she rolls her eyes.

“Come on, I was only joking. I know you would never do that to me,” she smiles confidently, and  _ fuck _ , if she only knew half the things Ryan did to him. 

“I would  _ never do that _ ,” he confirms hypocritically, shaking his head. “I love you, Sarah. Besides, you know I don’t swing that way.”  _ Lying through his goddamn teeth _ . 

Sarah nods, intertwining her fingers with Brendon’s. “Yeah, I know that.”

They stay quiet for a few moments, both staring at their hands, hoping for more physical contact. 

“You know, I spoke with your parents,” Sarah admits, chewing on her lower lip nervously. “They’re really disappointed in you. I doubt they’ll be visiting anytime soon…”

Brendon sighs. He hadn’t really thought about his parents, or any member of his family, ever since he got in prison, but that didn’t exactly surprise him. His parents are probably extremely upset and ashamed, why would they want to visit him? “That isn’t very surprising,” he finally answers, and even if he did expect it, he is still disappointed. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers to him, frowning a little. She can obviously sense Brendon’s disappointment. “Zack said he would come as soon as he can,” Sarah says in an attempt to comfort him, an awkward, apologetic smile on her lips. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Brendon says, mostly just to shut her up. She isn’t really sorry, and Brendon knows that. He deserves to be in prison – it was his fault. He has no excuses for the things he did. “God, this place is disgusting,” he mumbles to change the subject. “The shower floor is covered with  _ hair _ . Body hair. And I heard guys  _ fucking _ ,” he flinches, knowing that saying that might remove some of the doubt Sarah has. Not that she really has any, but she could, at some point. Who knows. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” 

“It’ll all be over before you know it. It’s a good thing you hang out with someone. It can get a little lonely in here, yeah?” Sarah frowns. Brendon knows what she’s thinking. She knows that Brendon wouldn’t be the same once he would be out. Brendon knows too, but he chooses to ignore it and pretend that nothing is going to happen. He knows, though, that Sarah is extremely worried about who Brendon might become. Prison really changes a man. 

Before Brendon can even respond to that, he hears the loud yet unintimidating voice of that Weekes guard saying that the visitation time was over. Brendon doesn’t know if he feels relieved or disappointed. They’d barely even spoken! Alright, it probably has to do with the fact that Brendon took a while to decide on whether or not he would actually come. 

Sarah sighs deeply, and stands up. They were allowed two hugs or kisses – one at the beginning of the visit, and one at the end. Weekes probably whined about Brendon and Sarah hugging because he hadn’t arrived at the beginning of the visitation period (and also because he wanted a reason to whine, probably). 

Brendon smiles sadly. He knows he is going to miss Sarah, but he can pretty much keep himself busy most of the time in prison. He doesn’t have a lot of time to think about Sarah, really. Especially with Ryan Ross around. With Ryan Ross as his fucking  _ cellmate _ .

Brendon moves closer to his wife, and hugs her tightly. This time, though, it’s a lot more intimate and physical than last time, and it lasts longer as well. He pulls away only a little, kissing her slowly and deeply, hands cupping her neck. This is the closest they’ll be in the next year, but neither of them truly realize that. He now wonders how couples manage to stay faithful to one another when one is in prison. 

Oh wait. 

They don’t. 

He smiles against her lips, pulling away before that Weekes guy has any time to bitch at them for kissing for too long. He’s probably just jealous of Sarah. “God, I love you,” Brendon tells her, since he knows this is the last time he’ll get to say it until the next visit, which will be in a week’s time. 

“I love you too. So much,” she immediately replies, and their foreheads touch for a few seconds, until Brendon pulls away. 

The next few seconds go by too quickly. He blinks, staring at Sarah as she squeezes his hand and finally lets go, walking out of the room with a sad expression on her face. 

Brendon’s fists clench, and he watches her as she leaves, until she’s out of sight. He relaxes a little, closing his eyes. He can still see Sarah on the inside of his eyelids: the way she smiled at him, the way she talked and looked at him, trying to console him. And the most surprising thing is that it worked. Brendon feels much better now that he has interacted with the outside world. With  _ Sarah _ . His wife. The love of his life. Not Ryan, or Pete, or the other assholes he has to talk to in prison, on a daily basis. 

Then, he looks up, and sees  _ him _ . 

Officer Weekes, staring  _ right _ at him, with an unreadable expression on his face. They make eye contact for about thirty seconds – what seems like an eternity to Brendon, before Weekes finally looks away. Brendon feels shivers down his spine, and he turns around, heading to the exit with the rest of the prisoners. 

As unreadable as the expression on Officer Weekes’ face was, he still somehow managed to send a shiver down Brendon’s spine. No words had to have been exchanged, no, all it took was a look; a simple, but yet, a dominant one. Something Ryan couldn’t, and never had, given him. Not once before had he. 

A fuck-buddy he may have been, but it seemed that Ryan was not capable of being anything more than a quickie in a bathroom stall – or something to that effect. The point really was, that Ryan was just (and mainly) a distraction to him. 

A distraction from what he was actually feeling. Or rather, who he had feelings for. 

If you need something to drown out your thoughts - try someone named Pete. Brendon doesn’t recognize or notice him at first - until Pete makes an effort to speak to him. 

“You look like you’re wasted, man. You alright?”    
  
“I’m not as think as you drunk I am –” he answers, almost in a slur. Great, a way to push his suspicions even higher.  “…Sorry. Sorry, uh–,” he says with a shake of his head.

“You’re a crier aren’t you?” Pete asks, tilting Brendon’s head up with his forefinger. He can see unshed tears in the other’s eyes, and with that noted; he lets go, before Brendon can manage to yank his hand away. 

“ _ Fuck off, Pete _ ,” Brendon snarls, swatting at Pete’s hand anyway. He’s done with fake politeness. Even if he doesn’t really know Pete a lot, he doesn’t care if he’s being an asshole to him anymore. In the end, everyone’s an asshole to everyone in prison. “I’m not in the mood, and even if I were, I still wouldn’t be in the  _ fucking mood to even talk about my goddamn mood _ .” It’s witty, Pete will give him that - but it still doesn’t make up for the fact that it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. 

“Listen, I’m only tryin’ to–,” 

“ _ Fuck your fucking trying, Pete Wentz _ . Didn’t I say I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my mood? And more specifically,  _ what went on in that fucking room that I do not dare speak of? _ Like how I had to  _ hide _ the fact that I’m not exactly a heterosexual fucker, nor a totally homosexual fucker either? I’m straight down the  _ goddamn line of that goddamn spectrum _ , and you  _ know _ how I know that? Because I’ve  _ fucked _ George Ryan Ross the  _ goddamn _ third, but I’ve  _ also _ fucked  _ Sarah fucking Elizabeth Urie _ ! But I can’t just out and fucking  _ spill the beans _ in front of our  _ darling wife _ , now, can I? That I’ve successfully had  _ dick _ in a prison cell? NO! Even more specifically, a  _ dick _ .  _ In _ .  _ My _ .  _ Goddamn. Ass _ .” This isn’t something that he’d really thought out. Which is probably why it doesn’t make any sense at all.  Not to anyone but himself, really. 

Pete opens his mouth as if to speak, but is shut off quickly by someone quite familiar. “Is there a problem here? Go back to work.”   
  
“Sorry, Officer Weekes,” Pete says under his breath, shuffling out of the man’s way and scurrying down the hallway. 

“No, No, I have a problem.” Brendon snaps, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, mainly due to sweating because he was so goddamn hot, but also maybe from the unshed tears from a few moments ago - which now succeeded in making a trail down his cheeks. Brendon Urie was actually  _ crying _ . “I have a goddamn problem, and I want you to fix it. I don’t give a shit when, and I don’t give a shit how, but I want to move cells. Or something. Listen.”   
  
Brendon’s fingers wrap around the officer’s wrist, and then he practically yanks him over to the side – the taller –  _ extremely taller  _ – man almost toppling over him. He was close to it: he was practically pressed right against Brendon.

In truth, Brendon does not mind at all. Neither did the prison guard. 

“You heard about my dilemma from a few minutes ago - you know what’s going on. I can’t be in a cell with someone that I will…” Brendon pauses. “…willingly throw myself onto with a sticky note stuck to my forehead saying: ‘here I am! Let’s fuck.’” Once he is done speaking, he lets out a deep, over dramatic sigh, and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t want that, would you? Someone who sleeps in the same room as you do, and for some reason, you always seem to end the night fucking into oblivion. And, fuck, it feels amazing. But I can’t. I can’t do this, I shouldn’t have to face these kinds of things!” 

“Um…” the officer frowns, looking down at the smaller man awkwardly, not exactly sure what to respond to that. It was the first time any prisoner had said something like that to him. 

“That’s what I thought. Move me. Please. I have a wife, and I’m already in here, betraying her trust. I don’t wanna dig myself deeper into the shithole.”

“That’s your own problem,” the officer replies stubbornly, trying to mask any kind of emotion. Brendon wonders how he manages to be a prison guard. He’s obviously way too sensitive for the job. “You can’t keep your penis in your jumpsuit? Your damn problem. Have some self-control, for Christ’s sake!”

“But–,” 

“No! No, no, I’m not dealing with this crap. Deal with this on your own, Urie,” the officer immediately responds, rolling his eyes and shoving Brendon away.  


***

That night, Brendon instinctively curls up in Ryan’s bed with him, once the lights are off and the cells are locked. Ryan doesn’t say anything – thankfully – and Brendon sighs tiredly, burying his face into Ryan’s chest. “Long day,” he mumbles into his jumpsuit, smiling as Ryan wraps his arms around his middle. He’s glad he has someone to talk to, someone to cuddle when he’s feeling down. Even in prison. Ryan isn’t perfect, and Brendon knows that, but at least he offers comfort. 

“How was seeing your wife today?” he asks, stroking Brendon’s back softly. 

“Stressful,” Brendon confesses, humming as Ryan caresses his back. “But I’m glad I got to talk to her, you know.”

“Yeah, I get it. But - no, I kinda don’t. I don’t have … what you have. I wouldn’t exactly understand.” 

Ryan’s tone sounds … sad. As if he’d want something similar to what Brendon had. God, if only he knew how stressful it was. 

“Not exactly fine and dandy when you’re sentenced to a year in prison,” Brendon says quietly, reaching behind him and takes Ryan’s hand in his own. He doesn’t understand why it feels like a first instinct for comfort - to take the other’s hand, but Ryan didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Brendon. 

Ryan’s fingers intertwine with Brendon’s, his thumb subconciously smoothing over the back of his partner’s palm. “No, guess not.” He whispers, nuzzling the back of Brendon’s neck. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Brendon heads out to the yard, he immediately spots officer Weekes staring at the other inmates, leaning against a brick wall. He’s watching as two inmates scream in something that sounds like Spanish, and hit each other violently. He was peacefully drinking his apple juice, watching the scene and letting the other officers intervene without joining in.

Brendon simply rolls his eyes and sits down at a table with Pete, rubbing sweat off his forehead. “Would you look at Weekes over there? Looks like he’s really doin’ his job,” he scoffs. Somehow, it felt really great to be able to mock an authority, especially in prison. 

Pete snickers softly, leaning back on the bench to look at the officer. “I bet  _ Beckett  _ would love to hear about that, wouldn’t he? It’s been years he’s been trying to fire that incompetent asshole.” 

“ _ Beckett _ ? Who’s that?” Brendon asks, still focused on the officers pulling the two prisoners apart, but especially on officer Weekes’ lips around that apple juice bottle. 

“The Warden. He hates that Weekes guy, man,” Pete tells Brendon with a shrug. 

Brendon raises an eyebrow, smiling to himself. Well, maybe he might have found a way to get in Weekes’ pants.  _ Well _ . Only if he  _ wanted _ to, of course. Which he doesn’t. Obviously. 

“Gotta go, man. I’ve got a lot of work to do. See you around,” he says, patting Brendon’s shoulder before standing up, walking away and leaving Brendon to himself.

“See you,” Brendon nods to him, still staring at officer Weekes with a wide smile on his lips. He leans against the table, until Weekes stares right back at him. Then, he sits up straight, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Weekes walks to him,  _ glaring  _ furiously down at him. 

“What are you looking at, inmate?” 

It is obvious that officer Weekes is really  _ trying  _ too hard to sound tough and intimidating. Brendon chuckles softly, and shrugs. “I was just thinking about how good that apple juice looks,” he smiles innocently, raising his head to look up at him before standing up. Even standing up, Weekes was  _ way _ taller than him, which is definitely a turn on. 

No,  _ no, no no no no no.  _ He is most definitely  _ not _ thinking about this right now. Was he seriously considering this?

It was enough with Ryan, he won’t cheat on Sarah with two different guys. Weekes probably has a wife and kids, anyway. He pretty much looks like the family type. 

“You’re talking to an officer, inmate. Be careful,” he warns, narrowing his eyes. Frankly, Brendon just thinks he looks adorable. 

“Of course, of course, sir,” Brendon replies with a teasing tone. “I’ll be careful next time. Whatever you say.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Dallon says and he really seems to believe Brendon isn’t being sarcastic. “Don’t you have work to do?” 

“No, sir,” he says, with a playful voice. “It’s my break. I worked real hard today,” he smiles, raising an eyebrow at him. “I could work some more, if you want me to…For you, exclusively...” he hums suggestively, staring up at Weekes through his eyelashes. 

_ What the fuck is he doing?!  _ He has no clue, but he really  _ should stop right now. _

“That won’t be necessary, Urie,” the officer says, attempting to sound detached. 

“Come on, sir,” he says.  _ Why is he even trying to convince the guard?  _ He shouldn’t want this. But for some fucked up reason, he doesn’t stop. “No one would ever know. What’s the harm?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating here, inmate, but you better stop before I write you a shot,” Weekes says. 

Brendon rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever,” he shrugs and stands up, smiling knowingly at Weekes before walking away. 

_ Thank God. What was he thinking? _

He crosses paths with Ryan, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “Ry,” he whispers to him. 

Ryan raises his eyebrows curiously. “Yeah?”

“Follow me. Please. I’m so  _ fucking hard _ right now,” Brendon answers quietly, trying to keep his shit together as he takes Ryan’s arm to pull him towards the cellblock. Ryan simply follows, happy to be able to meet Brendon’s needs. They get back into their cell, Brendon hurriedly pulling Ryan in and closing the door behind them. It was usually easier to have sex without getting caught during the night, since no one could really see the inside of the cell from the small window, since it was so dark, and also since they were so quiet. But Brendon just  _ couldn’t  _ wait. Besides, most officers were outside, guarding the prisoners right now. No one would notice them. Brendon just needed to get off. Then he would be back to his daily activities. 

Ryan doesn’t say anything, because he knows what he has to do. He gets down on his knees, pushing Brendon onto the door and removing his jumpsuit pants. He then pulls down his white see-through underwear, looking up at him as he wraps his hand around the base of Brendon’s cock. 

“Fuck, Ry, please just  _ hurry _ ,” he begs to his cell mate, biting his lip desperately. 

Ryan happily complies, pressing his lips onto the tip of Brendon’s dick, closing his eyes and letting his length slide into his mouth, feeling the head touch the back of his throat, almost making him gag. He probably would have choked if he wasn’t this skilled with all of the prisoners in here fucking his mouth. He groans softly as he feels Brendon bucking his hips and pushing further into his mouth. Since he doesn’t approve of this, he holds Brendon’s hip with his free hand, allowing himself to take over control, bobbing his head at a slow pace. He earns a few moans from Brendon, looking up at him as a warning to shut up. If he got too loud, they would get caught. 

Brendon arches his back and puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his noises, looking down at Ryan with half-lidded eyes and watching him suck his dick. It was slightly strange to see Ryan do this, since from the beginning it had always been Brendon blowing Ryan. He definitely wasn’t complaining, obviously – Ryan was extraordinarily talented. 

It was over after less than five minutes, Ryan pulling back to let Brendon come all over his face, Brendon’s muscles tensing as he rode out his orgasm, throwing his head back on the wall and hitting the back of his head. He winces a little, but continues to stroke himself until Ryan stands up, walks to the bed and wipes his face with the corner of Brendon’s bed sheets. 

Brendon chuckles softly and pulls his underwear back up, then his jumpsuit, catching his breath. Ryan turns back to him and smiles awkwardly. “I’m late,” Ryan says, licking the semen off his lips. “Gardening,” he elaborates. 

Brendon gives him a small nod, and without another word, he opens the door and walks out with a stupid grin on his face. 

***

Sex has a way of making Brendon lose track of time. Well, would we really consider it  _ sex _ ? Maybe just a little fooling around..that at least made Brendon feel a little better about his whole affair. 

He’d bummed some mint gum from Pete earlier that day, so he pulls the stick out of the chest pocket on his jumpsuit. Unwrapping it, he inserts the stick into his mouth and crumples up the tin wrapper, tossing it over his shoulder. He may have been the wimpiest man’s bitch, but he still had to keep up a cool persona. 

Twisting the chewed ball of gum up against the back of his teeth, he spreads his lips just enough to poke his tongue out - just enough to blow a bubble. 

On his way down the hall, he spots someone he hadn’t really seen around here before. Maybe it’s because he looks shy and introverted, or because he is the scum of prison, and is only allowed into the real world for a matter of hours. 

Brendon takes note of the tattoos on his arm; charcoal stripes starting from just the beginning to his elbow, to his wrist. They seem to thin out around the wrist, so maybe that means something. Maybe a standout quality. 

Brendon nears him, and notes that he’s standing in the corner alone. He decides to speak. 

“Hey.” He says, studying the taller, slimmer man before him. 

“H-h-h-hi.” The inmate manages, nervously, his voice representing that of a chihuahua. 

Brendon takes another step forward; even closer now. 

The inmate seems to notice and steps back a little, rubbing his wrist where the thin black lines were permanently marked. 

“I’m Brendon. Nice to meet you - what’re you in for?”

“Something I didn’t do. Not like I’d-I’d uh… say anything about it, though. I guess that’s what a good friend is considered of being.” He says, swallowing thickly and jutting his head slightly to the side. “Tyler, by the way.”

“Tyler,” he nods, patting the man’s shoulder. “Nice, I’m Urie.”

“Uh, oh, okay, y-y-you go by l-last names,” he blinks, nodding. “Joseph,” he adds, attempting to smile. 

“Well, don’t worry, Joseph, your time here will go by so fast you won’t even notice it before it’s over,” Brendon says, which is kind of a lie, really, but the guy’s new. He doesn’t deserve any of this. “How long have you got?” 

“I-I...Eight years,” Tyler Joseph answers, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself. 

“Eight years? Damn,” Brendon raises his eyebrows, nodding. “Well, this place isn’t as bad as you expect it to be. I mean, the food is absolutely  _ disgusting _ , but apart from that… You’ll get a job assigned, and do your time, then get out of this shithole,” he says, shrugging as he leans over the wall.

“I…h-how long h-have you been in here f-for?” Tyler asks, frowning at Brendon. 

“Not long. Really. I’ve just gotten in here, over a week ago. Believe me, I know it’s shitty, but it  _ is _ all temporary,” he says, chewing on his gum. “Have you spoken with your counselor yet?” 

“Yeah." 

“Stump, right?” Brendon says, looking at his own nails carefully. “He’s nice. I wonder how he got the job, really. Working in a prison with a personality like that?”   


Tyler seems to shrink, tensing a little. “Yeah, I don’t know…”

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” Brendon says with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

Tyler just clears his throat. “It was- I used to be…It’s just…e-ever since I got arrested…” he stutters, looking down at the floor. 

“Man, it’s all good, you really don’t need to tell me all ‘bout that. I get it,” he nods. “You don’t wanna talk about it.”   


“N-no, i-it’s…” he shivers, closing his eyes. “My best friend. He was…he was the one who did the crime,” he confessed. “Josh, he hit that girl with his car. I-I saw him. I was with him. The girl, she died, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t stand him going to prison for it, and…I took the blame. Pretended I ran o-over the girl, and k-killed her…” he clenches his fists, shaking his head. 

Brendon puts a hand over his arm. “Shit...that’s some serious crap. I’m sorry, man. Spending eight years in prison, for a crime you didn’t commit, that must suck…” he sighs softly. “What about your friend? Josh, right?”

He shakes his head. “He doesn’t want to talk to me a-anymore. H-he’s upset, t-that I took the blame for him,” Tyler replies quietly. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brendon scoffs incredulously. “He’s not talking to you because  _ you _ took the blame for a crime he committed? What a fucking asshole,” he shakes his head. “Doesn’t deserve you as a friend if you ask me.”

Tyler shakes his head. “No, h-he… it-it isn’t his fault…” 

“Of course it’s his fault. He’s a dick,” Brendon sighs heavily. “You got a girlfriend? A wife? Fiancé? Kids?”

“A wife,” he says. 

“Yeah. Me too,” Brendon says, his thoughts drifting off to his affair with Ryan, and to his gorgeous wife Sarah. “What’s her name?”

“Jenna." 

“Think of her. Being in here, just think of her, alright? It helps a lot. Once you’re out, once you’ve done your time, you’ll get to be with her again,” Brendon explains with a smile. 

Tyler nods, looking up at Brendon with pitiful eyes. Brendon bites his lip, frowning. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re not alone,” he says to the guy. It seems to reassure him a little and Brendon says goodbye to him before walking back to the field. 

***

Brendon Urie doesn’t have feelings for a correctional officer. He is most certainly not falling in love with officer Weekes. 

Only, the officer is in every one of Brendon’s dreams. He knows that it can’t possibly be normal, right? He can’t have some sort of craving for  _ three different people at the same time _ ! He needs to pick someone. He knows that. And that person is going to be Sarah. But the problem was that now, after letting Ryan fuck him multiple times, how could he go back to being faithful to Sarah? Especially knowing that there is very little risk that he would get caught. How would he possibly be able to restrain himself from having sex for a year? He loves Sarah, he really, truly  _ does _ , but...isn’t there a way he can pause their relationship just for the amount of time he’s in prison? Lost in his thoughts, he scoffs as he eats his supper, shaking his head. He can’t do that. That’s not how things work. If he wanted to do that, he would need to talk with Sarah about it. She would freak when she would find out that he had been getting  _ fucked in the ass behind her back _ ! Well, metaphorically. Not literally, of course. That would just be… Brendon shivers, trying not to think too much about it.

Pete stares carefully at Brendon. “Something on your mind?” he asks, with a playful voice as he plays with the… _ substance  _ in his plate. 

Brendon shakes his head again. “Not much. I’m just tired,” he replies, sighing. Ryan isn’t eating with them. He’s over there with that Jon guy. He truly doesn’t understand Ryan anymore. He used to get him, really. They were best friends, and he could read right through Ryan. He could tell when he was lying, when he was upset. Now, Ryan was just unpredictable. 

When Brendon sees Tyler walking in the cafeteria, wondering where to sit, he motions for him to join them with a smile. He doesn’t really know why he’s being this nice to him, but he knows what it’s like to be new. Of course he knew – when he was younger, he and his parents always moved due to the bullying Brendon suffered everyday, at each school he went to. That was, of course, until he met Ryan.

Tyler shyly walks to their table and sits next to Brendon, avoiding eye contact with them. 

“Hey, man,” Brendon says, then looks over at Pete expectantly with raised eyebrows. 

Pete rolls his eyes. Brendon knows that Pete doesn’t really want new people at their table, but Brendon doesn’t care. He knows what it’s like to be an outsider. Pete seems like the kind of guy who was quarterback for his school’s football team, had about twelve different girlfriends and the rest of the girls of the school fantasizing about being his girlfriend. He probably came from a whole different world than Brendon’s. Not that Brendon really  _ knows _ Pete, but that is what he looks like at least.

Tyler clears his throat. “H-hey,” he says quietly. 

“That’s Wentz over there,” he says, nodding over to Pete. 

Tyler offers them a small smile and nods. “Nice to meet you,” he says, daring to look up at Pete.

Pete chuckles softly at Tyler’s appearance and way of talking. “What d’you do? Cuddle a kitten to death?”

Brendon laughs, but shakes his head. “He probably doesn’t wanna talk ‘bout it, man.”

“You know, you’re gotta have to look a bit more strong if you wanna survive in here. You could become a target easily,” Pete tells Tyler, chewing on his meatball. 

Tyler’s eyes immediately widen and he looks at Brendon, wanting to verify if what Pete is saying is true. Brendon simply nods. “Yeah, man. I hate to say it, but prison’s really gonna toughen you up,” he shrugs. “It already has with me, and I’ve only been here for a week, man.”

Tyler begins eating, not really wanting to talk about it. He spits out his rice, wiping his tongue off with his hand. “Does anybody want this? I’m not eating it.” 

“It won’t get better,” Pete informs Tyler, shrugging. “You’ll have to eat eventually.”

Tyler sighs, and Brendon slides Tyler’s tray to him. “I’ll have it,” he says. The food  _ is _ disgusting, yes, but Brendon was beginning to get used to it. Besides, he worked a lot today and he was hungry. 

“Are you – is it only you two all the time, or d-do you have some sort of a gang?” Tyler asks innocently. 

Brendon laughs then turns to Ryan. “Nah, he’s my…well, he’s a friend. Ry – um,  _ Ross _ . For some reason, he likes to ditch us for that Walker asshole.”

“Come on, it ain’t like you haven’t ignored him as well. Stop it with the couple fights, man, it’s gettin’ boring. There’s no time for that shit in prison,” Pete rolls his eyes. “Get over yourselves.”

“Hey, we’re not even in a fight! I don’t even know why he went to hang out with that fucker,” Brendon protests.

“What, are you jealous? I thought you and your wife were forever,” Pete teases with a wide grin.

“Shut up, Wentz,” he scoffs, finishing off his food before eating Tyler’s. 

Before Pete has any time to protest, Ryan stands up from Jon’s table and sits next to Tyler indifferently. He looks over at Brendon, pretending Tyler isn’t there. “I see you’re already getting bored of me,” he states, glancing at Tyler. 

“What,  _ him _ ?” he laughs. “You think  _ he’s _ fucking me? Or that I’m fucking him?” 

Ryan glares at Brendon without expression, without replying. 

“You’re one to talk, with that Walker fucker,” he challenges Ryan, pushing his tray to the other side of the table. “Besides, I’m not dating you. We established that, right? I’m  _ married.  _ You’re just fucking me.”

Brendon doesn’t notice how terrorized Tyler looks because of the conversation between the two. Ryan shrugs. “I sure didn’t figure you’d sleep around.” 

“Okay, first of all, I am  _ not _ sleeping around, and second of all, what if I fucking was? It’s none of your damn business. You don’t own me,” Brendon says, loud and angry. Weekes steps closer to them as a warning for them to stop. Otherwise, it would end in chaos. 

“Alright. Do whatever you like,” Ryan says without a trace of emotion in his voice or face. It actually seems like Brendon is getting mad over nothing. 

“You bet I will,” he says, taking Ryan’s words as a challenge. He’ll show him what he’s got. He stands up, bumps into Ryan before walking out of the cafeteria angrily.   
  



End file.
